


Misguided children

by MommaVanillaBear



Category: Goosebumps (2015), Goosebumps - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5543981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MommaVanillaBear/pseuds/MommaVanillaBear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slappy just wanted his Papa to notice him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misguided children

At long last the freedom that Slappy craved had been given to him, not willingly of course, but rather by an act of chance that he knew would never happen again if he didn’t act fast. It was never his intention to go after his beloved Papa, no, Slappy knew deep down that he relied on Stine too greatly to ever truly have the man out of his ‘life’; yet he also knew the cruel reality of being locked away inside that leather bound book. The boredom and agony of replaying his story over and over until he felt ready to burst with rage and boredom- if keeping Stine in the picture meant the possibility of him having to someday return to his prison of solitude and paper, then he would rather have Stine six feet under.

The freedom that Slappy first felt was slowly losing its luster, the game of freeing his trapped brethren becoming tedious as he sat upon the black hood of the haunted car, his arms crossed over his chest as he rested his back against the wind shield.

Oh yes, this game of his had definitely lost its luster and amusement. Sure it was fun to watch Stine squirm and beg for mercy, but it did little to actually make the dummy feel truly happy as he thought back to those hours ago. With the more time he was given to think about it, the more the dummy realized just why he felt so terrible. The feeling raging through his core wasn’t anger or in fact rage, but rather sadness; such a deep and terrible sorrow that shook him to the point where he began to question whether it was possible for creatures like him to be able to cry.

“Why so sad, Slappy?” The dummy asked of himself as he listened to the shrieks coming from the town, listening to the crackling of electric poles being broken with ease, and the sounds of car alarms going off as the people of Madison attempted to escape they mayhem that Stine’s ‘children’ brought. The dummy chuckled, closing his eyes as he continued to emit chuckle after demonic chuckle, finally reaching to the point where he found himself sliding off the hood of car, landing soundly on his feet as he headed into the heart of Madison.

If Slappy believed in having a ‘heart’ of his own, he would say his was broken the first time he was ever put into that god forsaken book. After all, was he not created to be a friend for Stine? Was he not written to have all the charms and behaviors he possessed? So why was he, a monster that was promised friendship, and acceptance, punished time after time for doing whatever it was that his own Papa had inscribed in him?

Slappy remembered when he was first released from Stine’s writing, he remembered the way he was carried- he was carried like a child that was loved, spoken to like a friend and equal; made to feel like he mattered. Yet as he walked the streets of the small town, as he felt the cracks and chips on his chin and nose, he couldn’t help but feel that he never truly mattered at all. 

“I thought I was special…” He murmured to himself almost feverishly, stepping over a burning manuscript as he passed a few creeps, hell bent on his mission to notice which ones. If his Papa thought he could hide away and pretend that none of this was happening, then Slappy was all too happy to find Stine himself and show his Papa just how much he was hurting. 

The dummy knew if he was to find his Papa anywhere that it would be right at the house where all the trouble began, after all, that house was Stine’s safe haven, and where he kept the type writer. As Slappy continued to head towards the old house on the out skirts of Madison, he couldn’t help but laugh at the sounds of a nearby car being ripped apart- a ghoul or two must be having a ball right about now, and even though the dummy was tempted to join in on the chaos, there was only one place he truly wanted to be. Of course, Slappy wasn’t no ordinary dummy, just like predicted, the window on the second story of the house was lit by Stine’s work lamp, the curtains closed as if to ward off any spook that may pass and look up.

Unfortunately for Papa, Slappy was not to be ignored this night.

Climbing the rain pipe Slappy maneuvered himself up towards the window, using the shingling of the house as mini steps here and there, till he finally got to the window sill, pulling himself up with a silent huff of determination. As he pushed in the old fashion window, the sorrow he pushed aside for so long was building once more as he moved through the curtains, spotting his dearly beloved Papa at his work station.

“So, you thought you could hide from me, eh Papa?” Slappy demanded as he moved from the chair by the window to the desk, his chocolate brown eyes practically glowing with an eerie neon green light. “It took me a bit, but here I am Papa.”

“S-Slappy! You’re here!” Stine stopped his writing in shock, watching his creation closely as Slappy moved forward, noticing that the dummies movements were off, almost shaking rather than his usual confident strides. 

“I don’t like being kept waiting, Papa!” Slappy screamed, stomping angrily on the keys of the keyboard, adding random numbers and letters to Stine’s half page of work. “Though I should be used to it, seeing how you left me locked up in that book for twenty years!” 

Stine’s eyes darted from side to side, the writers mouth opening before shutting, looking a bit unsure what to say. 

“What’s wrong Papa? Cat got your tongue?” Slappy demanded, kicking angrily at the small pile of papers that sat by Stine’s type writer. “What are you writing? A new friend? Someone to replace me?!”

“Now Slappy, you know no one could replace you-“

“Shut up!” Slappy screeched, for the first time since he had been created he lashed out angrily at his beloved creator, eyes tearing up with green slime like tears. “I was good to you was I not?! You wanted a friend! Someone to listen to you! Did I not listen to you? Did I not scare those bullies away? Did I not love and respect you?!”

The green slime tears dripped down the puppets chipped face as he fell, legs sprawled as if he were truly nothing more than a marionette with his strings cut. 

“Did you truly only create me as a joke? Was I truly nothing to you? I thought I was special…I could have been whatever you wanted me to be…but you casted me away…you locked me away like I was a criminal!”

“Slappy it wasn’t like that-“

“It wasn’t like that? It wasn’t like that?!” Slappy screamed, uncaring if green slime stained the white of his suit. “I wanted to make you happy Papa! I wanted you to see that I cared for you as you cared for me…but now I see I was nothing more than a play toy for you…something you could use and play with and throw away when you got bored…”

The rage that was once in Slappy’s voice was near gone as his fisted hands laid by his legs, eyes near closed, as if lost in thought. For the first time he truly looked broken rather than his devilishly impish self.

“So what are you waiting for Papa? Lock me away.” 

Slappy could hear the sound of Stine’s chair moving backwards, and flinched as he waited for the expecting pain of being locked away to occur, yet when he felt pudgy, tender hands pick him up, he couldn’t help but blink in confusion. His eyes widened as he was held like he once was, a small square of white fabric being brushed against his wooden cheeks as he realized that his tears were being wiped away.

“Papa?”

“I’ve been very bad Slappy.” Stine spoke softly, his fingers brushing against the cracks on Slappy’s nose. “I’ve been a very bad Papa… All this time… I’ve neglected a dear friend whom was only crying out for me. Tell me something Slappy, can you forgive your misguided Papa?”

Slappy watched Stine’s eyes intently, trying to find the cruel, sick joke, but when he didn’t, he nodded slowly, asking the dreaded question. 

“Will I have to go back into the book?”

“Can you help me gather up the rest of my children?” 

Stine waited, smiling softly when he spotted a flicker of the Slappy he once remembered from long ago returning.

“Of course Papa.”

“Well then Slappy, what you say to helping me tonight and tomorrow I’ll see what kind of deal we can work up.”

“I’d like that a lot.” Slappy said with a grin in his voice as he was carried like a dearly beloved child, sitting on his creators arm, his back pressed firmly to Stine’s chest, right where he was meant to be. “I’d like that a lot, Papa.”


End file.
